I was screaming, inside and out, here he was the same boy I grew up with, my best friend sitting in front of me in the clutches of death. Dialing 911, a lady immediately answered "911 what's your emergency" my breathing hitched as I noticed the red bullet hole on his forehead, "Miss!?!?" the lady yelled through the phone "uh. . .sorry, um my friend, jack, Jack Sanchez, he- he was shot I-in the head" tears were pouring down my face as the lady murmured a quick 'police are on there way'.
I sunk down to my knees, my hair sticking to my face as I bawled, this had to be a dream, jack wasn't dead, he couldn't be.
Police sirens surrounded me, and soon the sheriff was standing in front of me.
After a while of investigating the Scene officer Barkmen took me down to the station for questioning. They were simple questions like 'How do you know Mr. Sanchez?' or 'How close were you to?' while other officers were barking orders to each other.
After what seemed like years they let me go, I quickly dialed my father's number not really feeling like driving myself home.
YOU ARE READING
Painfully Blue
HorrorI was confident, A little to confident for a girl whom awoke each morning and 'painted' my face with 'war paint' as my father likes to call it, so lets sum this up a bit it, It was an early November morning, nothing was unusual other than the fact t...
